A Secret Grave 78: Mayhem and Murder

 

The door to the apartment was unlocked, but that wasn’t unusual. Betsy called out to her mother and didn’t get a response. It was about five-thirty on a May afternoon – May 7, she’d never forget the date, not only because of what happened, but because it was the day before Mother’s Day and she’d bought a gift for Loraine, a pretty box for her to keep odds and ends in.

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Creepy Hallway, SurFeRGiRL30, https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/

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She hurried through the dusky apartment. As she opened the door to Loraine’s bedroom she had to stop because of the smell, a dark, raw, sickish smell that she couldn’t at first identify. She moved closer to the bed, calling her mother’s name in a panicky voice, her heart suddenly beating so wildly in her chest that it seemed her ribs would crack open. When she got to the bedside, the whole world seemed to stop. A strip of daylight trickled through the closed curtains and Betsy could see Loraine lying on her back, her body very still, her eyes wide open. Certain details would stay with Betsy the rest of her life: the whites of the eyes glistening in the darkened room, the smell, the luridness of the nightie pulled off Loraine’s shoulders so her heavy breasts were exposed, the blood.

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In red, Ri 13,  https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/

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Instantly she started screaming. A big red stain of blood spread out from Loraine’s body, covering the white sheet. Later she would learn that Loraine had been viciously kicked, punched, beaten and finally shot in the stomach. The perpetrator had pulled the covers up over half her body so the damage was hidden. Betsy ran from the room, shrieking. Within minutes the place was filled with police.

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Crime scene, Derek Bridges, https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/

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What had happened? The next door neighbor had been home, but with the TV turned way up high and her kids making a racket she hadn’t heard anything, although she’d noted a man entering Loraine’s apartment a few hours earlier when she’d returned from the store with groceries. That wasn’t unusual. Still beautiful at thirty-eight years old despite the alcohol, Loraine had lots of boyfriends. As best they could tell, there’d been a deadly squabble, one of the boyfriends fiercely jealous of another, crazy, suspicious, had come to visit equipped with a gun, determined to massacre her because of the deranged thoughts in his head.

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To be continued…

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Cover photo ~ bloody sun, gwenole camus, https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/

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